Today, a tall beautiful curly-haired goddess approached me after yoga class and told me that she read my blog. And has been reading for awhile. I can’t even begin to tell you the thrill I felt, knowing that she read my words. Even though I know several of you are out there, I still feel shocked when people come up to me and tell me they’ve read my articles. It will never get old.
Writing, while one of my passions, is a rather lonely venture. You write to the audience in your head never really knowing if your words ever connect with another living soul. To find out that your words were read AND had an impact on someone, well, that makes me kind of a big deal. At least in my own head.
This woman, who will know who she is, eluded to the fact that she appreciated that her body was accepted in my class. That her size didn’t matter, she could feel welcome and honored. Those weren’t her exact words, but that’s what I heard. She said it was great to find a teacher that looked like her. (And silently, in my head, I thought “am I that pretty??”)
Let me tell you, this woman is gorgeous. I remember looking at her postures during class and thinking what a strong yogi she was. She had a glow about her as she practiced that I felt honored to witness. I didn’t see her as anything other than pure blissful beauty.
It made me reflect on the fact that the way we see ourselves and the way others see us are so completely different. I often wish that people could see themselves the way I see them when they are practicing yoga.
I get upset sometimes at the business of yoga, and that somehow, somewhere along the line, society and commercialism painted a picture of what a yogi should look like. Tall, thin, super flexible, probably a principle ballerina in the New York City ballet in the past, terribly boho chic. I know several yogis who, through no fault of their own, fall into that description. (And I still love your beautiful ballerina selves!)
Not me, though. Not the majority of the yogis in the world.
I am the pied piper of those who do yoga awkwardly, passionately, imperfectly.
I champion those who choke on their luscious boobies when doing inversions. (I’m sure this is how I am going to die. Area yoga teacher asphyxiates on her own boobs in yoga class. The story at 10.)
I live for the inflexible, the injured, the people who are strong in some parts of their bodies and totally weak in others.
You are my people. And you can do yoga.
I deeply thank this beautiful yogini for coming forward and talking to me after class today. It made me feel like the passion and energy I have for yoga and writing are worth it. It made me feel like a rock star. My ego hummed and my heart felt full.
Because I know you’re reading, I will write on…one post at a time.
I know I’ve jumped all over the place in this short little post, but here’s the last thought I have. Know that anyone who is brave enough to lay down their mat in a yoga class is a yogi. You are always welcome in my class, whomever you are.
I look forward to it.